The Devil's Masquerade
by Hidden-in-the-Shades
Summary: "An angel praying to an angel; how ironic" He said in a dry tone, a smirk beginning to play across his lips...


**Disclaimer and Author's Note:**

Thanks for all the reviews on my first story! This is the sequel to Just a Little Song for an Angel, which is a little longer and more adult then the first.

Keep in mind; this is an AU SL (alternate universe storyline) for the movie, with elements from Susan Kay's Phantom and the original story by Gaston Leroux.

To clarify, the main characters' ages are such:

Meg: Just turned 18.

Christine: Just turned 17.

Raoul: Twenty-five.

Erik: Forty-seven.

Now, I don't want to hear anyone saying 'Eeew! You're making Erik a pedophile!' This is not the case, because I am going for a historically accurate Fan Fiction: Young women in the early 19th century did get married and start having relationships (with much older men) at ages ranging from 16 to 18; to ensure strong children.

All rights to characters belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber: This is just for fun, not intending to make any money off this. Original character idea goes to Gaston Leroux.

Please enjoy, read and review!

**French Dictionary:**

Aucun: French word for no, according to Google.

Merci: French word for thanks, or thank you.

It was a little after four o'clock in the morning by the time Meg finally made her way back to her quarters. It would have taken less time if she hadn't had to shake off the pervert known as Joseph Buquet on the way, but otherwise; she did not get caught. The bad thing was that she didn't expect to find Christine there, but:

She did.

Meg had just finished closing the door to her small room, one of the small perks of being the daughter to the Ballet instructor: One gets a private room. She was about to turn around to face her bed when a voice sounded behind her.

"I heard you from my room." The sound of Christine's melodic, soprano voice made Meg jump and turn quickly to face her; the look of surprise clear on her face. The brunette was wearing a light pink night gown, so light that it looked white, and had tears streaking down her face. "I didn't know that it meant that much to you, Meg; playing the violin." Meg gave a grimace as she looked at her delicate, bare feet and hid her face behind the curtain of pale gold ringlets that was her hair.

"You never asked" Meg stated simply, her voice barely a whisper.

"You could have come to me, later on in life…you know? When we weren't immature children?" Christine stood up slowly and stepped up to her friend. When they were children, Christine was always the shorter but now that they had flowered into adulthood; it was the opposite. The brunette stood in front of the demure blonde for a long while, looking down at her as she fought back more sniffles. "The Angel told me he heard you, as well." This statement made Meg blink and look up sharply, her hair falling away to show wide, brown eyes.

"What angel?" The blonde repeated the question from years past.

"The Angel of Music" Replied Christine, who was speaking now in low whispers, like she feared to be over heard. "He came to my room, and woke me up; told me that I should apologize and find you." She smiled half way, making a move to reach out and take Meg's hand but this comment somehow angered Meg. '_Is that the only reason why she's apologizing? Because she was told to do so,' _Meg thought to herself bitterly as she snatched her hand away from Christine and backed away.

"It was so long ago; it doesn't matter" Meg said shortly, as she gave Christine a strained smile. "Now, we should get to bed; we have a performance tomorrow." That was the way of Meghan Giry; short, to the point and blunt when upset about something.

But Christine, being the naïve girl she was, believed her friend and smiled. "Yes, of course" She murmured, but the smile she wore (as Meg could always tell with Christine) was worried. "Good night, Meg." She then departed from the small room, leaving Meg alone.

Meg sighed heavily, shaking her head as she closed the door after Christine and bolted it shut. "So, she still thinks he is an angel and not a man," She mused out loud to herself as she undressed and climbed into her bed. "Boy, she'll get a shock when she realizes how untrue that line of thinking is." With those last murmured words, Meg fell into a fitful sleep.

No, no! This couldn't be happening, shouldn't be happening! Dead! The pervert is dead!

Such were the wild thoughts of Meg as she ran around like a headless chicken after the ballet, during which Joseph Buquet dropped from the rafters by a Hangman's noose. She was searching every room for any sign of Christine, worry thick in her heart for her friend. She was just about to give up hope when she ran into Christine; quite literally.

There was a squeal from both females out of surprise, and a laugh from the accompanying Raoul, as they collided into each other. While Christine was not as good at ballet as Meg was, Meg was the more clumsy of the two; the sudden impact of her head against Christine's collar bone, just as the couple came rounding the corner at a slow and easy pace (whereas Meg was running full tilt), causing her to fall to the ground. "Meg!" Christine laughed jovially as she helped her friend up, "You should really be more careful!"

"Oui, oui; I know" replied Meg haughtily in annoyance, but there was a tone to her voice that suggested she too was trying not to laugh. "Where were you? Are you all right?" Meg looked quickly from Christine to Raoul and then back again. "I was so worried! I thought…" She broke off, giving a hesitant look to Raoul. "Oh well," She said with a quick shrug. "It doesn't matter what I thought! As long as you're safe," She reached out and took Christine's hand, so she could clasp it once; tightly. "Then it doesn't matter."

"I'm more then safe, Meg; don't worry." Christine said fondly as she squeezed Meg's hand. "But I was just about to go to dinner with Raoul; why don't you join us?" She offered, but Raoul's quick shaking of his head, causing Christine's face to fall, already told Meg the answer to that offer.

"Aucun, merci; I am fine." Said Meg casually with a small smile, "I should go—"She paused, though, thinking she heard something above them and behind the couple in question. It made her frown, because it sounded like very angry (but masterful) singing on the roof. Christine blinked when Meg broke off like that.

"Go where?" The brunette asked in confusion.

"Go…uh…get some fresh air! Yes, that's it!" Meg said with a smile as she quickly dashed around them both to hurry up the spiral staircase to the roof. It took her less time then she expected to get to the roof, the sound of singing dying off as she reached the door. Meg's delicate hand quickly reached out and yanked the door open, only to shut it quietly behind her when she heard the sound of crying in the stillness of the night. The cold instantly bit into her, the snow falling heavily around her now (almost a blizzard), whereas before it was just a few flurries. Shuddering madly, Meg moved forward toward the sound of sobbing; heavy, and distraught beyond measure. With teeth chattering (you should have changed out of your ballet costume, you fool; said the voice of her mother in her mind), Meg approached the black figure kneeling in the snow, hunched over scattered rose petals that were now barely seen in the snow.

The Phantom looked quite haggard, his black suit and cloak almost blanketed with the snow that fell around them, as the tears began freezing to his face. Apparently, the Phantom had not yet noticed Meg's presence. Meg watched him for a few moments, the wind whipping her hair about as snowflakes began to get caught in the ringlets, before speaking hesitantly to him:

"Monsieur Le Fantome? What happened?" The sound of her voice made him jump as he lifted his head and looked toward her.

For the longest moment, the only thing the Phantom did was staring; stare at this beauty before him. She still wore the green, pink and white tutu from tonight's ballet, but the head piece was gone, leaving her golden hair to fall about her trim shoulders in beautiful, flawless ringlets that had become encrusted with snow as her delicate frame shook violently in the wind, like a leaf barely clinging to a tree. Her arms were about her chest, in an effort to stay warm, but from the blue in her lips and cheeks; he could tell this was failing. But it was the blue color of her delicate, normally pink lips, which brought him back to life. He jumped to his feet quickly, making her back up in slight fear. "What are you doing out here?" He asked forcibly, sounding almost angry with her.

"I…I heard you singing?" Meg said, in a questioning tone as she stared up at his impressive visage. The Phantom gave her a quelling look that silenced her immediately.

"That's not a good excuse to almost freeze to death! Your mother would kill me if anything bad happened to you." Without another word, the Phantom snatched the petite blonde up in his arms (Meg too frightened to scream) and hurried over to a large statue. He hit the small, stone ear of the Gargoyle and it swung forward, with its nose on the ground, to show a staircase that lead down into the Opera House again. He didn't carry her long, though; just long enough to get her inside. Then he sat her down, and turned to close the hidden door behind them.

Shaking from fear and cold, Meghan watched the Phantom as he closed it and when he turned back to face her, she spoke to him; "Why were you crying?" She asked in a soft whisper, the snow in her hair already starting to melt. The Phantom took a deep breath and sighed, turning his mismatched eyes toward the blonde.

"I was a fool, trusting the supposed love of someone who is young" He replied slowly, before moving forward to help Meg to stand. Though hesitant, she accepted his help and gladly. She smiled shakily at him, her teeth chattering when she next spoke.

"M-Maybe you s-should w-wait, and s-see if t-they c-come around?" She offered. Though she used the word "they," to suggest that she didn't know who it was; Meg was pretty sure he was talking about Christine. Fiercely, she began rubbing her arms in an effort to warm them as she watched the Phantom, who was frowning heavily down at her.

"No, there is no waiting; she has made up her mind" He said with a firm sort of finality to his voice, making it sound almost like a growl. The Phantom watched the pretty girl for another moment or two, before offering (what he hoped to be) a genial smile. "Have you been practicing, though?"

Meg blushed. "I haven't had the chance to yet; I spent all day preparing for the…the Opera." She muttered as she looked down at her hands, the tips of which were beginning to fade from blue to peach again. The Phantom gave a grimace, and was about to leave when Meg stopped him with a question. "Why did you kill Mr. Buquet?" For a long while, the Phantom was silent as he pondered how to answer this and when he did, he turned about to face her and took on a masterful impression of Joseph Buquet's normally drunken, horny look.

"Come on, love; give us a little slob on our knob, and we'll love you forever" He slurred, making Meg gasp and squeal in surprise at how much he sounded like the recently deceased. It even made her back up in reflex. But the Phantom soon became himself again, a wry little smirk on his face.

"You saw what happened? Between him and me; what he tried to do?" Meg whispered, and the Phantom only nodded in confirmation. She flushed red and stepped away from the wall. "Is that why you killed…"She started to say, but he finished the sentence for her; cutting her off mid-sentence.

"Killed him? Yes, that is why: A foul man like that should have to bend at the knees; like so," And he did kneel down in front of her when he said this, the Phantom's cloak and dress coat fluttering around his booted ankles, water dripping from his hair and the clothe he wore. "Just to see the beauty of an angel, like you" He murmured as he reached out and took her hand, like a saint about to receive communion, so he could place a delicate kiss upon the top of her still icy cold hand. This action, which she allowed him to do, made warmth flood through her body (starting from her hand, going all the way to her toes) and she flushed bright red.

"I am nothing compared to some" The sobering statement from the Ballerina's lips was what brought the Phantom back to thoughts of Christine; his angel of music, who stepped on his heart and went flying to the arms of a Fop. The Phantom frowned heavily, not commenting on this: Because currently, in his mind; it was true. He stood again, releasing her hand.

"You should go find your mother" He said simply, before turning around and leaving her alone. Meg watched as her strange, new friend left her alone in the shadows of the Opera House; her body still shuddering like mad from the cold that still lingered. She sighed heavily, shaking her head as she began making her way to her mother's room; muttering to herself as she went.

"Oh, Christine; what have you gotten us into now?"

This was it! Your night! The night in which you can show all those fools how beautiful you are!

She was fantasizing again; she did it a lot, our young Meghan. She stood in front of the mirror in her mother's room, smoothing the white corset down across her trim belly. Meg had saved for months to get this fabric; this rich velvet, that was a rare white color. She was supposed to be a swan but in her mind; she looked more like an angel. She smiled brightly, tossing her head to make her curling bangs bounce in her eyes. It also caused her headpiece to hang at a jaunty angle atop her head.

"Come on, Meghan!" Her mother said sharply from the small sitting room just outside her room. "We're going to be late!"

"Coming!" chirped Meg in reply as she finished straightening her bodice, so she could leave the room with a delicious ruffle of her heavy, ballroom skirts. When she stepped out, the blonde looked eagerly toward her mother. Her mother, dressed like a Japanese Geisha, looked shell-shocked for a moment before saying, quite sternly.

"Your neckline is far too low, Meg."

"I just turned 18 last month, Mum!" Said Meg, sounding shocked and slightly abashed that her mother would point out the one thing that she had hoped she would not point out; that the neckline was deep, showing the tops of her creamy breasts to an almost obscene amount. "If I want to be married by the time I am nineteen," She reasoned as she placed her hands on her hips. "Then I have to be appealing, don't I?" 'Especially when Christine will be getting all the attention as usual' Meg thought to herself bitterly as a small frown crossed her face. "But I will go change it if you really want me to."

"No, no; it's all right," Her mother relented, as a sigh fell from her lips. "Just stay close to me, okay? We don't want the Phantom hiding you away, do we?" She teased Meg, but the very thought was enough to send shivers of fright through her small frame and she was quick to follow her mother out the door.

"I said no, Thomas!" The firm voice of Meg said just moments before an explosion sounded by the top of the staircase. She jumped backward, right into the waiting Thomas' arms, and stared toward the source of it; just in time to see the Phantom, in gleaming red as he began heading down the stairs toward the crowd. She scooted away from Thomas and next to her mother, her eyes wide with shock (at his sudden appearance) and with fear, at the sight of the fury on his face. He had chosen an excellent costume in Meg's opinion and she couldn't help but look him over. The Phantom was a man, and obviously so; the red of his suit clinging nicely to his muscular frame, with broad shoulders and trim waist. She bit her bottom lip as she saw Christine approach. Meg strained to hear what was being said, but the sounds around her were too loud. She caught the gist though; the Phantom, apparently, was demanding that they perform his opera that he wrote.

"Your chains are still mine; you belong to me!" He hissed suddenly, loud enough for her to hear clearly. Meg's heart sank when she heard this: How could he be so blind, she mused to herself but she wouldn't be able to dwell on this just yet, because after he said that: Pandemonium broke loose in the Ballroom. There was another flash of light and what seemed to be fire, before the Phantom dropped down into the floor and disappeared. Christine looked utterly horrified as Raoul dropped down in after the Phantom before the trapdoor could close.

"Mum, do you know anything about—"Started Meg but when she turned to face her mother; she found that her mother was gone. She huffed angrily, muttering about how she hated it when her mother did things like this. Now that her mother wasn't around, though, Thomas saw this as his chance to get in close with Meg once more.

"Come on now, lovey" He cooed as he curled an arm about her waist. She instantly began to stiffen up as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "One dance and I promise I'll leave you alone." Meg struggled and managed to get out of his arms (probably because he let you go, said the logical part of Meg's mind).

"I said aucun, Thomas!" She said forcibly before turning about face so she could stride quickly out of the chaotic ballroom, her long white skirts flying behind her wildly in her haste. Meg, frantic because of the Phantom's threat to the group, ran for quite a while in the labyrinthine halls of the Opera Populaire. By the time she reached a destination (the Chapel in the catacombs), Meg had lost one of her wings and her headpiece, so that her long hair fell in tangled waves about her face. Panting heavily, the blonde knelt down next to the altar and began to pray a string of prayers to St. Michael.

"Sáncte Míchael Archángele, defénde nos in proélio, cóntra nequítiam et insídias diáboli ésto præsídium. Ímperet ílli Déus, súpplices deprecámur: tuque, prínceps milítiæ cæléstis, Sátanam aliósque spíritus malígnos, qui ad perditiónem animárum pervagántur in múndo, divína virtúte, in inférnum detrúde: Ámen" She muttered to herself, before standing up. She felt better now, as she often did after praying but when Meg finished turning around to head back toward the door…she was met by a surprising figure behind her:

It was the Phantom.

He stood like a Devil in red, the shadows giving his ensemble many captivating low lights; as if the red was melding into the black of the shadows around them. He was breathing heavily, like he had just run for his life as his mask hung slightly askew off his face but he was quick to fix it as he began approaching her. Meg stared at him, the fury obvious in his mismatched eyes and the sight of such a fierce emotion on his face was enough to make her begin backing up.

"An angel praying to an angel; how ironic" He said in a dry tone, a smirk beginning to play across his lips. Meg was shaking visibly now, and he liked it quite a bit, especially because of how her gasping breaths made those ample breasts move up and down in her bodice. "But the Devil is here, ma Cheri; what do you do now?" An almost maddened laugh could be heard on his voice as he stepped ever closer to the blonde, her doe brown eyes wide and glassy as her mouth delicately fell open in a gape.

"Monsieur Le Fantome…" She started but she never got the chance to finish, because he suddenly rushed at her and pinned her to the wall. The Phantom expected her to scream, but she did not, making him pause for a moment as he looked down into her face. She was so small compared to him that he knew, if he should want to, he could break her neck with one twist but the loveliness of the blonde was hitting him more and more.

When he walked into the Chapel, the Phantom thought he had walked through the gates of Heaven itself. The low light of the candles in the Chapel made her hair seem like spun gold, and her skin appear akin to an alabaster statue. She was clad all in white, one angel wing hanging off her shoulder, and kneeling in front of the stained glass of Gabriel; the Angel of Music and of Death. But now that she was practically in his arms, this lovely creature to rival that of a true angel: The Phantom was close to losing his head. His nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath. _Lord, she even smells good!_ He thought wildly, the scent of her vanilla and cinnamon perfume hanging in his nose to drive him mad.

"Well? What do you do?" Asked the Phantom again as he sneered down at her. "Going to run away and scream for help?" This is what he expected her to do but how could he know what was really going on in her mind?

He couldn't.

Meg stared at him for the longest time, her whole body feeling as if she was caught on fire, as her throat worked. She was fighting for something to say to him to get him to let her go, but Meg found that her tongue was not working the way it was supposed to. She swallowed nervously, looking him up and down. He was so fit and his voice was wrapping its spell on her; demonic almost in its barely contained fury. "No," She managed finally: "I'm not going to."

This little statement made the Phantom blink in surprise and take an instinctive step backward. "And just why not?" The query came suddenly, almost like a bark of a dog, and made her flinch a little out of reflex.

"Because," She said slowly, her hands wringing together as they often did when she was nervous. "I trust you won't hurt me." This made him take pause even more, staring at her with an unreadable expression playing across (what she could see of it, anyway) his face. He was still breathing heavily, and Meg's overactive imagination began to play out scenarios in her head.

_He rushed at her with the speed liken to a Devil in flight, crushing her small form against the wall as he all but attacked her mouth with his in a fierce, violent soul kiss. _

But this did not really happen. He took in a deep, shaky breath. "Keep practicing; tomorrow, I will call on you and I expect to hear a flawless violin piece." Without another word, the Phantom left her alone in the catacombs; feeling shell-shocked at her good luck that he did not kill her and disappointed that he didn't do what her mind had conjured up, during that awkward silence in which those soulful, mismatched eyes only stared at her.

Stared right through me is more like it, she mused as she began the slow and long trek back to her room:

She had practicing to do.


End file.
